


Catastrophic

by orphan_account



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Dark, Dark Clarke, F/M, Graphic Description, Insanity, Past Child Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Psychosis, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-06 00:44:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4201404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by Mess of Me by BrookeSutter, only with the dark turned up to 11 and no shipping. This is very graphic, and if I write it correctly, ought to be disturbing. Do not read if you <br/>a) like the characters in the 100<br/>b) think this is going to be an extended story<br/>c) take terrible offence at violence as a result of past trauma<br/>These are not my opinions about how any real person may act or react, and it is a work of fiction. Please, and I cant't stress this enough, if you think you will be offended, do not read.<br/>The subject matter becomes very dark. You have been warned</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catastrophic

**Author's Note:**

> Just to reaffirm the warning above, this story contains scenes of dismemberment, brutal death, heavily referenced underage rape etc. This is not a happy story, and you have been extensively warned, so please do not give me shit in the comments section.

When the men came for her, she fought. She bit, she kicked, as she had done every night for months. Months. What was the point? They were in space. There was no time out here. The sunrise and sunset were uneven, and measuring time was something for other people. At first, she had counted. Remembered every night, when the men came into her room. At first, she had tried to forget, tried to fight. She had drawn lovely things on the wall, lovely trees, flowers and plants. That had been such a long time ago. As they came back, night after night, back to their blonde princess, she had fought. Then she hid. There was nowhere to hide in her pitiful little room. So she hid in herself. Buried herself down, underneath layers of armor. Protected herself from the monsters outside. And her walls and floor had become darker, as trees and flowers turned into tendrils and snarling mouths and blades. When her room was covered she turned onto the next pallet. The red was a strange change from the dark pencil, and soon her little, cuboid cell was covered in stark red and black and white drawings. Not that it stopped the grey clad monsters for a second. 

These new men were different however. They looked at her. Saw her sitting there, her clothes shredded, red lines crisscrossing her flesh, her hair matted and disheveled. Then they saw her room- the horrific contorted faces on all of the walls, the painted vistas in red and black. A few of them made the signs of the holy on their chests. She almost laughed at that. A man walked in. He was wearing a black jacket and pants, and his hair was swept up. He froze when he saw her, and she saw his lips move in a fervent prayer at the sight of the room.

"Clarke"

The man had spoken. She didn't move. She hadn't finished the portrait at her feet yet. She didn't have much time. The monsters would be back soon. 

"Clarke"

She looked up, and saw him staring at her. Clarke. Was that her name? She couldn't remember. She wasn't there any more.

"Clarke. Come with us. You're leaving."

She actually did laugh at this. Leave. How could she leave? She was barely even here. Her existence was spent, her lifeblood expended, here. How could she go, when this much of her was going to be fastened her, bound into the walls, the graphite, forever. The man seemed unnerved by her laugh. She could imagine that it would be frightening. After all, all she used her voice for nowadays was screaming. She heard the guards muttering something. This was where it happened. Where they came over and held her down, so they could take turns... Her laugh turned into a scream as she remembered, and she threw herself at the guards. She was thin, drawn and weak. Malnourished and severely debilitated from blood loss. A guards shock stick was the last thing she remembered before the world went black.

\---

When she awoke, she was in a strange container, surrounded by dozens of people. She looked up at them through her untidy white hair, and saw them all looking at her. Their faces were a strange mixture of emotions. Pity. Sadness. One or two even had a look of smug superiority on their frustrating head covers. She tried to lunge at them, only to find that her arms were restrained. Attempting to kick out, she discovered that the same was true of her legs. She began to writhe and rail furiously against her bonds. The people sitting on either side of her started to look at her, concerned. And well they should have been. She could see them all. Feel their stares, burning through her skin, like a horrible infection. Like a rash. She could feel her left wrist coming free. 

Obviously whoever had designed these bindings had been skipping stages, as her wrist came free to the sound of the ripping of fabric. The people to either side of her looked extremely worried now. One of them even moved to stand up, but then she reached over and tore the other wrist free. At once, three of the boys rose to their feet. They started to move towards her, and were only a short distance from her when she rose to meet them, ripping the bindings from her feet. They looked at each other, and she could smell the fear coming off them. They didn't know what to do with her. She had no such compunctions. She led with her teeth, ripping into the lead boys throat. He choked as she withdrew her bloody face and spat the section of his windpipe onto the floor. His body fell into her arms, and she started to rip into its chest. Somewhere, inside this shell, was the real person. The little sphere of truth that hid away from the monsters. She had it in her. She had to find it. 

She was hauled away from her little excavation by the two other boys. She began lashing at them, and biting and gouging with fingers and teeth, but they kept away from her head and restrained her arms, holding her still. Then, the atmosphere happened. The two boys skyrocketed into the top of the dropship, and she collided with them at the top. The two unfortunate cushions at the top of the ship had been stunned, and now she had to think. The little ball of person was inside them too, just waiting to be let out. She couldn't just abandon them, inside their shells up here. But, soon they would hit the ground. If she wasn't careful, she would end up as dead as they were, and then what would happen. The little people within the shells would remain trapped forever. She made her choice, and began to crawl down the dropship supports. Then the earth struck, and she was catapulted into the floor, and the world faded to black once again.

\---

When the darkness receded, she found that her arms were tied together again. The blood had been wiped from her lips, but she could feel the dry red crust on her hands. It felt comforting. It felt familiar. She was slightly gratified to head shouts of panic when she raised her head. She was remembered, clearly. Through her hair, she could see that it was night. Then she saw trees. Actual, real trees. As a fire flickered nearby the shadows seemed to swirl and mold and merge, and the monster began to appear. The trees twisted and deformed, and the wind bought the distant cackle she heard so often in her dreams. And here she was, bound once again, a wooden stake behind her, surrounded by monsters of shadow. She did the only thing she ever did when the monsters came for her. She screamed. She screamed until her throat burned, and then she screamed more. Then, over her scream, she heard a loud gunshot. 

Stopping, she turned around. A freckled boy was walking towards her, a small gang gathered behind him. They walked in front of her, and knelt down, looking her in the eye. She could see it in his eyes. The emptiness. Somewhere within him he was hiding, waiting to be released. She could see it in all of them. In all of their eyes. She had seen it in her parents eyes, eons ago, moments before they were ejected into the freezing cold company of the stars. Watched as the light was snuffed out of them. As the spark hidden in their true selves gutted and died, buried beneath layers of falsehood and armor. And she saw it now, in this boy's eyes.

"My name is Bellamy. Who are you?"

She lunged at him, clashing her teeth. Her bindings pulled tight, and she stopped mid lunge. He swayed backwards, falling on his backside. He pulled himself together quickly, and knelt at her eye level again, slightly further away.

"I asked, who are you?"

She spat on his face. It was a truly remarkable shot, landing right in his eye. He turned away, and slowly, deliberately, wiped it off.

"What are you screaming about?"

Couldn't he see them? Couldn't he see the monsters? Gathering around him. Them. Scrabbling at them, trying to get inside. Get under their skin. Of course he couldn't. He wouldn't see them as monsters. The shell is too thick around him. It hasn't been rubbed, drawn and ripped raw again and again.

"You know. You're here to do it again. To peel away the layers again. You just want the same thing as me. You want to see inside."

The boy cocked his head. Her words sounded strained. Her throat was burning and raw, and her tongue hadn't been used for a very long time. The boy seemed more confused than annoyed about it. Maybe he wasn't hiding so far down. Maybe he was just underneath the skin. Standing up, the boy turned, and led the group away. 

\---

When the boy returned, he was shaking. Bellamy. That was his name. Bellamy. Like the flower. Was it the flower? No, that was Belladonna. Beautygiver. Poisonous. The Poisonous boy was shaking. He seemed frightened. Two of his goons were next to him. They held crude clubs in their hands.

"I need you to listen to me. Whoever you are. One of my friends is trying to kill us. I'm going to cut you free. If he gets you, he won't just kill you. He'll..."

He didn't have a chance to finish the sentence, although she though she probably knew what he was going to say. One of his goons fell down dead. The boy's knife fell before him, right next to Clarke's hands. Another knife was embedded in his back. One of the boys from earlier- one of lanky frame and greasy hair, and obscenely large nose- was staling towards them. Clarke began working on her bindings, even as Bellamy and the other boy moved over to intercept him. As her bindings fell away, she thought. The boy. The poisoned boy. Bellamy. He was going to free her. He had been about to cut her free. Maybe he was just skin deep. She still needed to set him free. He would be perfect. So much of him. So much to set free. 

The lanky boy turned to see her as he threw Bellamy down. He had a knife in his hand, and had a girl grasped around the throat in his other. They both looked at her in the same way however. The girl, with fear. The boy, with a tinge of hatred. She found she didn't care. The boy had been about to harm Bellamy. He was going to be her masterwork. No-one else could get in the way. No holes. No cuts. It had to be perfect. He threw the girl at her, and then lunged. She caught his blade in one hand, ripping it to the side, even as she felt her life blood drip from the blade. She brought her other hand up clenched in a fist, powering into the boy's throat. His eyes widened, and he stumbled backwards, gasping for air. She pressed on. Her fingers dug into his side, her nails ripping the skin. She plunged her hand into his side, past his rib cage. Her strike burrowed into his chest, and then, she grabbed. It was a strange bit of flesh, but she wrenched it free anyways. Out it came, in a flood of crimson. The boy took a couple more shaky gasps, before he lay still. She looked at her hand. It was running red, with veritable rivulets running across her fingers. Reaching down with her other hand, she picked up the knife. 

She knew that she couldn't set the poison boy free here. So she grabbed his leg, slinging him over her shoulder, and started to carry him into the woods. 

\---

 

It took hours, but eventually, she was done. He had stopped shuddering a while ago, and it was almost dark again, but he was truly revealed. His rough, filthy shell lay in fragments around him, slick with blood. His body was ruby red, dashed with the occasional splash of bone. She had been quite overzealous over the face, and little spots of cream showed through the ruddy mess on several occasions. The knife was slippery, and drenched, as were her arms. Her shirt was sleeveless now, but there was no more white. No more pencils. No more vistas. 

When she heard voices nearby, she turned, and slunk off back towards the camp. She had freed one and condemned another today. Now it was time to see if any of the others was ready to be free.

\---

When Octavia, Monroe and Atom arrived back in the camp, they caught the smell first. It was the smell of burning meat. Racing in, they saw Jasper and Monty first. They were lying on the outskirts of the clearing created by their landing. Or, pieces of them were. Their throats were open wide to the air, and their eyes had been gouged out. A huge hole had been ripped in their chests, and an empty cavity remained. Atom was sick immediately, but it was what came next that set Monroe and Octavia off. A young girl, whom Bellamy had befriended. Charlotte, that was her name. Her head sat in her chest, with her arms and legs hacked brutally off and scattered some way from her body. 

And so the bodies continued to pile up. In some places there were stacks of them, some mostly intact, some scattered into several piles of offal. In the center of the camp, the trio saw the reason for the horrible smell. A huge fire roared in the center of the camp. The walls had been torn apart and heaped up, and atop it lay piles of the boys genitals, carved furiously from their bodies. Octavia started to throw up again, heaving a grand total of nothing out of her guts. Monroe was distracted by a sound to her right however. She turned in time to see the blonde haired psycho twisting Atom's head one hundred and eighty degrees. The girl looked up at her. She was soaked in blood. Her long, unkempt hair stained reddy brown, and her white top and jeans splashed and stained with blood. Her arms were caked in blood all the way to her shoulders, and she stank of death. Her filthy face was streaked with teary lines.

"They aren't there! Why aren't they there?"

The girl collapsed onto her knees, onto the dusty ground below her, now damp with blood. 

"All I wanted was to let them out. To let out the fire to burn the monsters away. But I had to tear them out to burn the monster away. What... What do I do?"

Monroe was shocked. She flickered between pity and remorse. The girl was broken. Octavia had said so once they'd found Bellamy's corpse. But this. This wasn't the evil creature. This was a broken, damaged girl. She could think of someone else she knew like that.

As the girl slumped sideways, Monroe turned to see Octavia, pointing the gun at the girl.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Ending this. It is kinder to end her now. Not to wait. This must be done."

"Look at her! She's broken! She needs help."

"I just saw my brother's flayed corpse. I just walked back into our camp and found a pyre for the leavings of former boys. I found a ten year old sectioned and spread. She needs to die."

And with that, Octavia pulled the trigger.

The world exploded.

Monroe shouted.

As the pain coursed through her, Clarke leaped back out, back into her own mind. 

She looked through her own eyes.

Looked at what she had wrought.

Death was mercy.

Oblivion was the least Catastrophic of her choices.

**Author's Note:**

> FYI, I am not psychologically damaged- I just watched Hannibal recently, which helped to inspire this fic
> 
> For a much less dark and more hopeful story (I've been watching too much game of thrones lately), do read the original fic.


End file.
